Angels Poetry Compilation
Whispers of Magic
When it is twilight, the time when the shadows have fun , the silver waves are lit by the moonlight.
The wind is so subtle that it feels like a whisper, and it goes through the old trees ; it makes the trees react by opening their leaves, which are the keys they have for it.
It is the river that sings the secret song,
At the same time that the nice sleek moon catches reflections.
The stars don the cosmic dance , lowering themselves;
Every twinkle is because of an unseen , very lucky chance.
The showing of the unseeable things is done by
a willow wand and a crystal clear.
The fire sticks on the beautiful blue light,
Inviting sights to appear where the air is filled with strong winds.
The air is full of the aroma of thyme;
Time gently bends, slows , and is above all a sublime one.
The glade that is on the side of a hill can be reached by people not guessing which way , from the sound of the footsteps that are of the secretive nature.
The cat with eyes resembling hot gold is the one that understands the narratives made known by the dark.
Here is the cat that is aware with its whiskers , which certainly are of the highest knowing grace,
Disappearing without a trace in the most gentle way.
The preparations for the spells that are soft-spoken are on the way in wicker jugs;
The universe is within every such vessel.
Every single drop is a specially crafted galaxy,
Where the sun is kept in every heartbeat.
Under the bend of the elder's flowering,
Magic is alive there and can chase away any blues.
A key, a lock, a hidden door,
It is waiting for the one who has the courage to find out.
The wind scribes its letters in the sky,
Dragons-shaped clouds drifting by.
An opera of elements : fire, frost, and rain,
A composition of pleasure and pain.
In this realm where wonders breathe,
Nothing's quite what it seems beneath.
Every shadow, every gleam,
Is stitched from the fabric of a dream.
Magic stays in the calm of the night,
Helping gently in the change from wrong to right.
For those who seek and those who see,
The world holds endless mystery.
When it is twilight, the time when the shadows have fun , the silver waves are lit by the moonlight.
The wind is so subtle that it feels like a whisper, and it goes through the old trees ; it makes the trees react by opening their leaves, which are the keys they have for it.
It is the river that sings the secret song,
At the same time that the nice sleek moon catches reflections.
The stars don the cosmic dance , lowering themselves;
Every twinkle is because of an unseen , very lucky chance.
The showing of the unseeable things is done by
a willow wand and a crystal clear.
The fire sticks on the beautiful blue light,
Inviting sights to appear where the air is filled with strong winds.
The air is full of the aroma of thyme;
Time gently bends, slows , and is above all a sublime one.
The glade that is on the side of a hill can be reached by people not guessing which way , from the sound of the footsteps that are of the secretive nature.
The cat with eyes resembling hot gold is the one that understands the narratives made known by the dark.
Here is the cat that is aware with its whiskers , which certainly are of the highest knowing grace,
Disappearing without a trace in the most gentle way.
The preparations for the spells that are soft-spoken are on the way in wicker jugs;
The universe is within every such vessel.
Every single drop is a specially crafted galaxy,
Where the sun is kept in every heartbeat.
Under the bend of the elder's flowering,
Magic is alive there and can chase away any blues.
A key, a lock, a hidden door,
It is waiting for the one who has the courage to find out.
The wind scribes its letters in the sky,
Dragons-shaped clouds drifting by.
An opera of elements : fire, frost, and rain,
A composition of pleasure and pain.
In this realm where wonders breathe,
Nothing's quite what it seems beneath.
Every shadow, every gleam,
Is stitched from the fabric of a dream.
Magic stays in the calm of the night,
Helping gently in the change from wrong to right.
For those who seek and those who see,
The world holds endless mystery.
iNPC: Alexander Whitlock
Angels Poetry Compilation
For My Dad I Miss You
I wake to mornings wrapped in silence,
Your laughter hardly audible under the routine of the day.
Coffee gets cold on the counter without anyone drinking it,
And I figure out the outline of your lack
Among the places where you used to be.
I miss the gesture of your hands that told the tales -
Hands that were worn and tough, yet soft at the same time -
How you used to bear the heaviness of the entire world ,
Still, you made space for my little one.
All the creaks in the wood, the sounds of a book being opened,
They are here telling me that I am getting better
In a world without you.
I miss your voice,
Not only the words,
But the music underneath them -
An unchanging beat that I could put my weight on.
I recall the small things:
The sound of your boots when you were getting ready,
The quiet buzz of your favorite tune,
The way you looked at nothing and at everything and smiled all together.
The nights are the worst,
When the darkness becomes longer and the memories press against my chest.
I try to find you in dreams,
However, I wake from sleep into a void
And the reverberation of your name, Dennis Johnson,
A wish on my lips.
Nevertheless, I keep you close.
With the bend of my smile,
With the indomitable courage that you brought out in me,
With the hush that is louder than any other human speech.
I love you, Dad,
Yet I sense you right here -
Through the gentle touch of air,
Through the light that is just right,
Through the heartbeats that never forget.
Although life goes on without you,
Your love remains, untiring.
And I will keep thinking of you,
Until the moment I come to see you again,
And the voids will be gone,
And the silence will be over.
I wake to mornings wrapped in silence,
Your laughter hardly audible under the routine of the day.
Coffee gets cold on the counter without anyone drinking it,
And I figure out the outline of your lack
Among the places where you used to be.
I miss the gesture of your hands that told the tales -
Hands that were worn and tough, yet soft at the same time -
How you used to bear the heaviness of the entire world ,
Still, you made space for my little one.
All the creaks in the wood, the sounds of a book being opened,
They are here telling me that I am getting better
In a world without you.
I miss your voice,
Not only the words,
But the music underneath them -
An unchanging beat that I could put my weight on.
I recall the small things:
The sound of your boots when you were getting ready,
The quiet buzz of your favorite tune,
The way you looked at nothing and at everything and smiled all together.
The nights are the worst,
When the darkness becomes longer and the memories press against my chest.
I try to find you in dreams,
However, I wake from sleep into a void
And the reverberation of your name, Dennis Johnson,
A wish on my lips.
Nevertheless, I keep you close.
With the bend of my smile,
With the indomitable courage that you brought out in me,
With the hush that is louder than any other human speech.
I love you, Dad,
Yet I sense you right here -
Through the gentle touch of air,
Through the light that is just right,
Through the heartbeats that never forget.
Although life goes on without you,
Your love remains, untiring.
And I will keep thinking of you,
Until the moment I come to see you again,
And the voids will be gone,
And the silence will be over.
iNPC: Alexander Whitlock
Angels Poetry Compilation
Whispers of the Wandering Wind
Under the amber sky before the sun rose,
Where the shadows reach and dreams are formed,
The morning sings a very gentle song,
Which could be called a lullaby for day and night.
The river follows the curve of the valley very elegantly,
Its waves are like a hug of the most gentle kind,
Every ripple , in fact, is a very old secret,
Of unbreakable love and told stories.
Upon the arrival of light into the forest dense with green trees,
The leaves find words in their whispers very bright,
And every single branch that moves and bends,
Is a call from nature to the human spirit for reconciliation.
The mountains grow with an unmovable pride,
Their summits covered with clouds as if thrown together,
The time beyond the stars can be heard by the echo,
In all the rocks , the ground sings .
Under their stare , the wildflowers grow,
An ephemeral fire of smell and feather,
They let the wind know that it is free to take their scent far away,
The delicate dreams that we keep in jars.
The city has a different tune to sing,
Its beat is rough and its vibe very strong,
Still, even here, where metal meets the sky,
The human heart is immortal.
Love, however, is still there in the form
Of whispers in quiet corners, fleeting days,
The laughter of a child, the touch of a hand,
Which , by its softness, gives us the power to comprehend.
Moreover, when the evening sky is colored with pink and gold,
And stars unfold their tales in a very shy manner,
We understand that the earth is not only very big,
But a mixture of joy, sorrow , and sense, just like a quilt.
Therefore , follow the heart wherever it may be,
Beyond the seas or through the deserts of sand,
Still, be aware of the fact that every road you take
Is a familiar voice of the wind greeting you at home.
Under the amber sky before the sun rose,
Where the shadows reach and dreams are formed,
The morning sings a very gentle song,
Which could be called a lullaby for day and night.
The river follows the curve of the valley very elegantly,
Its waves are like a hug of the most gentle kind,
Every ripple , in fact, is a very old secret,
Of unbreakable love and told stories.
Upon the arrival of light into the forest dense with green trees,
The leaves find words in their whispers very bright,
And every single branch that moves and bends,
Is a call from nature to the human spirit for reconciliation.
The mountains grow with an unmovable pride,
Their summits covered with clouds as if thrown together,
The time beyond the stars can be heard by the echo,
In all the rocks , the ground sings .
Under their stare , the wildflowers grow,
An ephemeral fire of smell and feather,
They let the wind know that it is free to take their scent far away,
The delicate dreams that we keep in jars.
The city has a different tune to sing,
Its beat is rough and its vibe very strong,
Still, even here, where metal meets the sky,
The human heart is immortal.
Love, however, is still there in the form
Of whispers in quiet corners, fleeting days,
The laughter of a child, the touch of a hand,
Which , by its softness, gives us the power to comprehend.
Moreover, when the evening sky is colored with pink and gold,
And stars unfold their tales in a very shy manner,
We understand that the earth is not only very big,
But a mixture of joy, sorrow , and sense, just like a quilt.
Therefore , follow the heart wherever it may be,
Beyond the seas or through the deserts of sand,
Still, be aware of the fact that every road you take
Is a familiar voice of the wind greeting you at home.
iNPC: Alexander Whitlock
Angels Poetry Compilation
Whispers of the Forest
Beneath the shadow where the soft light plays,
The slowly flowing river sings and gently tears the earth.
Leaves talk of secrets that only the wind can understand,
And the dancing shades mingle with the silent stream.
A heron flies ; in sunlit orange, a mere outline,
Its feathers tell a tale that is never quite understood.
Covering each passing foot with the mossy banks,
While time is like water : it bends but goes on.
The mountains stretch their arms, their towering summits wrapped in clouds,
Grand and faraway, draped in the drifting clouds.
The atmosphere is fresh ; a hint of chill of winter is felt,
Still, life goes on ; it never surrenders to death.
On the untrammeled meadows, the flowers bow and sway ,
Their brightness steals the breath of the passing day.
One child's laughter rings high and loud,
A brief flame, the place where innocence is found.
The woods sing the song of green and rock,
Where souls can roam and yet feel the same home.
A fox moves stealthily by, its gaze of amber fire ;
It hasn't yet known that it's playing forest games.
The sun goes down ; the sky looks like a blazing ember,
Its last light sets the clouds on fire in the sky.
The stars come out, as if night is here,
A choir of scattered angels playing silver violin strings.
And here in this stillness, under the moon's serene light,
We are lost in the woods' embrace.
Every breath, every step, a part of the great song,
A sanctuary for hearts that are lost but still belong.
So why not stay here, at the river's winding bend,
Where time is calm and nature is always on the rise ?
Life is but a moment, but the beautiful things are vast,
An endless earth where spirits can find their peace, their home.
Beneath the shadow where the soft light plays,
The slowly flowing river sings and gently tears the earth.
Leaves talk of secrets that only the wind can understand,
And the dancing shades mingle with the silent stream.
A heron flies ; in sunlit orange, a mere outline,
Its feathers tell a tale that is never quite understood.
Covering each passing foot with the mossy banks,
While time is like water : it bends but goes on.
The mountains stretch their arms, their towering summits wrapped in clouds,
Grand and faraway, draped in the drifting clouds.
The atmosphere is fresh ; a hint of chill of winter is felt,
Still, life goes on ; it never surrenders to death.
On the untrammeled meadows, the flowers bow and sway ,
Their brightness steals the breath of the passing day.
One child's laughter rings high and loud,
A brief flame, the place where innocence is found.
The woods sing the song of green and rock,
Where souls can roam and yet feel the same home.
A fox moves stealthily by, its gaze of amber fire ;
It hasn't yet known that it's playing forest games.
The sun goes down ; the sky looks like a blazing ember,
Its last light sets the clouds on fire in the sky.
The stars come out, as if night is here,
A choir of scattered angels playing silver violin strings.
And here in this stillness, under the moon's serene light,
We are lost in the woods' embrace.
Every breath, every step, a part of the great song,
A sanctuary for hearts that are lost but still belong.
So why not stay here, at the river's winding bend,
Where time is calm and nature is always on the rise ?
Life is but a moment, but the beautiful things are vast,
An endless earth where spirits can find their peace, their home.
iNPC: Alexander Whitlock